


What Measure Is a Non-Human?

by twitchtipthegnawer



Category: Original Work
Genre: Alchemy, Biopunk, Blood and Gore, F/F, Fantasy, Genetic Engineering, Harpies, High Fantasy, Kinda, M/M, Misgendering, Monsters, Multi, Science Fiction, Soulmates, the only one who uses it is zola and it's barely noticeable, tho it's really slight tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-21
Updated: 2016-03-08
Packaged: 2018-05-08 06:01:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5486273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twitchtipthegnawer/pseuds/twitchtipthegnawer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Short characterization practice exercises for my original characters!! Organized by which story they belong to. Please, please, <i>please</i> critique if you read, these are meant to help improve my writing and nothing helps that faster than criticism!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sunrise

**Pia**

I crouch lower in the brush, my feathers ruffled up to twice their normal size and _refusing_ to smooth out, dammit, we need to be hiding _now._ Mornie’s huddled behind me, so small and fragile and still not able to fly yet, dammit dammit dammit.

The fire is a red-hot blaze around us, so bright that when I woke up I thought it was the sun rising. I _wish_ it was the sun rising, but instead of the normal pale yellows and greens of our servants bustling about I heard the burgundy of screams and blinding gold pops of fire crackling. Cackling. Cracking.

When Nel ran in with Mornie clinging to her it didn’t take much encouragement to make me start running. Of course not, the flames were almost as visible through the gauzy curtains of my bedroom as they are now, when we’re watching them from the edge of the estate. Mornie’s shaking so hard even though it’s so hot and I don’t know how to comfort her. I don’t know where to go. Dammit.

One of the servants was meant to come to us, but we’ve been waiting _so long,_ and what if no one comes? There are fewer and fewer cries as time goes on, and the feathers fluttering down around us are more brown and black than the rainbow colors I’m used to. It’s frightening, and no one can blame me, right?

Princets are supposed to be proud, but there’s nothing proud about the way I start running. Mornie doesn’t seem to care either, she’s following me with just as much clumsiness and urgency. Well, almost as much clumsiness (it’s not my fault, really, she has more practice at running recently and even though she’s baby-soft she’s not lazy).

I’m not sure how long we run, but my feet are covered in tiny cuts and are oozing blood into the forest floor by the time the sun really does start rising. I don’t know if Mornie’s are any better, but anyway she’s been lagging behind me for the last few minutes and she’s breathing so hard, I don’t know how much longer we can do this.

Suddenly, we see movement up ahead. We both duck behind a large fern, though in hindsight the bright green leaves probably wouldn’t have helped hide our blue and orange feathers much. The sugary pink voice hurts my eyes a little bit, but when I squint I can see that the harpy behind it is toucan- one of ours. I slump into a relaxed heap on the ground and call back, “we’re here!”

The stranger jumps a little bit when he hears me, but then he hurries over with a very sincere look of concern oozing off of him. “Are you alright?” He asks, looking us over with alarm once he realizes that Mornie’s barely more than a baby.

Yeah, sure buster, just help us get some rest and food. “I am,” I say aloud, my voice polite and trembling a little bit because I’m such a fragile waif aren’t I, “but I don’t know about my sister. Is there anywhere near here where she may rest and be helped?” Mornie doesn’t say anything, so I guess that she’s even more tired than me. Whatever, it helps our case.

“Of course, of course,” he says, ushering us under his wing and leading the way down a forest path that I hadn’t noticed before. “There’s a town not too far from here, just this way. You’ll be safe there.” _Score._ Safe from the fire _and_ safe from the invaders. Am I awesome or what?

I do my best not to think about Nel and my mothers. They’ll be fine; they have to be.

**Trey**

I make eye contact with the sooty scrap of a girl completely accidentally and regret it almost instantly. Seeing her makes something click into place deep inside me, like the feeling I get when a word is eluding me and I suddenly realize what it is. Except this feels like realizing what the word is and having it be a disgusting insult to Krain, because right after I realize what happened I hear someone say it.

“ _That’s Piesnia._ ” My stomach starts churning painfully when I hear it. That means that the child following behind her, staring at everything with wide, frightened eyes must be Mornie. The princesses are _here,_ and if what I think just happened really did happen, we’re in trouble.

Princess Piesnia is staring back at me with a dumbstruck look on her face, her mouth open and no sound coming out. Well, presumably no sound is coming out, considering the way her chest’s heaving up and down as if she’s just run a marathon. Is this the harpy I am meant to include in that “we,” now?

Her head snaps back around to face General, and when I look at her face she’s talking to the princesses, focusing so intently on them that she didn’t notice that my posture is absolutely not the prim and perfect attention it was at before. It puts a sour taste in my mouth; even hated, princesses are so _important,_ so _crucial_. Whatever General is saying, Princess Piesnia doesn’t seem to like it one bit. It makes me smile a little, even knowing that maybe I shouldn’t, anymore.

“But, miss-” General cuts the princess off with a barked question. I’m a little surprised that I could understand Princess Piesnia so clearly even with her facing partially away from me, but she _is_ meant to have an unusual voice. Great, will I ever be able to have silence again?

“We just wandered in the forest until someone picked us up,” Piesnia interrupts General, making her mouth slam shut in a way that I’m sure cracked her teeth against one another. Princess Piesnia doesn’t even pause, though, “but that’s not important. Who’s that girl in the corner, there?” She points at me imperiously and I vaguely consider how easy it would be to yank out one of her blood feathers.

Biting my lip as I straighten and look away from the scene in front of me, I desperately hope that Princess Piesnia isn’t about to do what I think she’s going to do. She wouldn’t be _that_ stupid, would she? A soulmate’s bond makes you vulnerable, and anyway she’s in such a delicate political situation right now, adding an unknown element like me to the mix is just careless.

“That’s Trebudeni,” General says, eyeing the princess warily. “Why do you ask?” She thinks I did something wrong, I know, but she’s wrong. She _has_ to be wrong.

“I think I just...” Princess Piesnia’s upturned nose wrinkles, though it doesn’t look quite like the haughty distaste I was expecting. “Bonded to her.”

**Krain**

Aunty is staring at me like I’ve just broken her favorite pot, the one with little blue flowers around the rim that she’s had since I first met her. I want to shrink away, run off where she can’t look at me so surprised and upset, but it feels like my claws have been glued to the wood floor. I sort of duck my head into my poncho instead, like if I can hide my mouth it’ll somehow stop her from seeing me.

The orange and blue harpies look vaguely familiar, but I probably wouldn’t have realized who they if it weren’t for the rumors that have been flying around. I might not like rumors, but if you’re quiet enough you hear them. This is one I’d never have dreamed was true, though.

The princesses are here, in Trey’s house. They’re being kept in the city. They’re _here,_ and I’m not supposed to know about it, only now I do, what does that mean for me? Aunty won’t let anyone hurt me, she won’t, I’m _sure,_  
but what if someone tries to hurt me anyway for it, can she stop them?

“Um, Miss?” the orange one- she must be Piesnia, right? Piesnia was the older one- jumps and turns around to stare at her younger sister when she speaks. Mornie, I think her name is, and her voice is so soft and quiet I like it even though I really shouldn’t be focused on liking voices right now. “Who is this?” Her gentle voice is shaking just a little. Is she scared?

Aunty swallows so hard that I think the sound might have echoed off of the wall behind me before she responds. “This is Krain. Krain, what are you doing here sweetheart? You weren’t scheduled to come by until the afternoon.” The fact that she doesn’t sound like she’s reprimanding me makes it worse.

“I, um, I was,” I pause and take a deep breath, “I had some free time and thought, well, Trey might be here, maybe I could, I’m,” I give up on my weak attempt to make eye contact and let my gaze fall to the floor. “I’m sorry, I won’t tell anyone, I swear.”

“Oh, honey,” Aunty takes the two hopping steps it takes to run up to me and gives me a hug, the kind that’s so familiar it makes me relax before I can think about it. “Don’t worry, I know you won’t.” _Oh,_ so does that mean it’s okay that I saw? “No one willsay anything about Krain here seeing you, will we?” She turns towards the girls, and I can see her face set all stern when I peek out of the corner of my eye.

This time it’s Piesnia who speaks. She’s loud, and chipper, and she makes me wince, but I’m glad for what she says. “My lips are sealed!” Behind her, her sister nods. I can’t help but notice that her feathers are only half filled in, so she looks a bit scraggly. A bit like me. I smile just a tiny bit.

**Mornie**

Hardly anything happened today, and I’m still exhausted, but my small bed in Trebudeni’s Aunt’s cottage is lumpy and uncomfortable, and when I close my eyes the red of my eyelids reminds me of things that could be coming for us in the dark, so I don’t want to sleep. I can’t wander around, either; my toes still ache when I stretch them, deep beneath the skin where the muscles stretched and compressed more times than they ever had before. Maybe Pia was right, and I should exercise more.

When I roll over in the bed it creaks, just slightly, but Pia doesn’t even stir in their sleep. I want to know how dreams don’t ever seem to visit them, why their eyelids see black instead of red, but I can’t ask them right now. I can’t do _anything_ right now, so of course my wings itch for movement. _Bodies,_ I think, not for the first time, _are ridiculous._

If I was back at home, where It’s warm and safe and the walls of my room shift with the shadows of my baby blue curtains, then I would be asleep already. Even with my aches, even with the knowledge that I’m not really safe here, not until the war is over and the moles are caught. Instead, I’m here in this strange, tiny home that always seems too cold, too crowded too.

It’s strange, because I’m used to living in a large estate, full of servants and extended family and visiting delegates. But here still feels more crowded, this tiny village surrounded by forest. Well, formerly surrounded by forest; I wonder how long it will be until the birds of prey come in, destroying the beautiful, tall trees that have always made our home. They don’t even need saws to do it, not with the earth-shaking powder they have. They’ll simply blow the roots from under them and wait for them to die.

Morbid as it is, I think that’s almost what they’ve done with us. Our roots are gone, our home is gone. Our mothers must be safe, of course, because if they weren’t then the war would be over already. Being safe doesn’t mean much, though, not when we’re separated like this. Pia hasn’t realized it yet, but we’re _prisoners of war,_ no matter how nice the prison is.

I have to admit that it is a nice prison. Maybe it’s only because Pia bonded to Trebudeni, but the result is the same. Here there’s always fresh bread to eat, and Krain visits every chance he gets. The people who I have to see are kind, and they don’t make me speak the way delegates and nobles always have. They’re the best jailers I could have hoped for.

Resenting them for it is out of the question, too; it’s not their fault they’ve been cast in this role. Taxes are a cruel system, I know, but I wonder if they know how necessary they are too. So much of the money we take goes back to them, though not in direct ways. Without the education necessary to see the paths the coins make through the world... of course they hate us. Or at least, what we stand for. Looking at Pia, I understand why it doesn’t feel quite so personal anymore as it did those first few days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My main concerns about these characters are that: Pia sounds too sarcastic and not funny enough, Trey sounds too much like Pia, Mornie sounds too generic, and Krain sounds too exaggerated. Any advice anyone could give on these fronts would be so, so appreciated!


	2. The Trees Grow High

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The exercises continue with the main characters of another of my stories, The Trees Grow High. For once, they are actually humans with no magic powers!! Wow, it is a rarity.

**Kyla**

I leap from one branch to the next, laughing as I go. I can hear Myloh’s claws scramble on the bark behind me, _just_ far enough away that he can’t catch up. For such a large and powerful beast, he’s a complete clumsy baby; it makes another bright, bubbling laugh rise up in my throat.

Suddenly, something smacks my face, making one of my hands slip from the rough bough. Before I can fall, though, a tanned hand is grabbing mine and helping pull me up. I straddle the branch, breathing hard, squinting up at the figure silhouetted against the setting sun. “Iru,” I say, more annoyed-sounding than I really feel, “what was that for?”

She leans forward, throwing her face into shadow so I can see her quirked eyebrow and lopsided smile. Her short braid falls over her shoulder as she shakes her head. “It’s dinner time, dumbass. Hurry on back before the stew gets cold.” As naturally as can be she hops up and over me, landing on the branch behind me. I have to duck a little to avoid being kicked by her in passing.

“Why do I care if it’s cold?” I ask over my shoulder, but I’m already standing to follow her. There’s no point in arguing with her, really, but I’m so used to being contrary that it comes naturally.

When she reaches the rope ladder she hops down onto it, Myloh following only a beat behind her head-first, the traitor. “Duh,” she tosses up at me, “because my dad’s cooking tonight!” _That_ gets me moving, though I’m still somewhat reluctant to waste the last few rays of warmth before the cold night kicks in.

We leave Myloh at the catamount stables and head lower and inwards, towards the tree trunk. Iru’s family is used to me eating dinner at their house, so I know they’ve made enough for me; the only question is whether or not I can eat fast enough to get seconds before her little brother eats it all, and the pot besides. I can smell the meat and vegetables wafting up even before we’re on the same branch as her home, and I know more than a few people will be envious of me tonight.

Of course, Iru’s mother gives me a disapproving look when we arrive. “Hiding from your mother’s cooking _again,_ Kyla?” She asks, stern brow set in a way that lets me know _she_ knows she’s fighting a losing battle, and that she’ll fight it anyway, maybe for the same reason that I always argue with Iru.

“Aww, you know I don’t mean it like that,” I say anyway, ducking my head in a polite bow as I enter her home. “Your husband is just so good at cooking miss, I can’t help it!” I flash what I hope is a charming smile as I dart to the table to grab my favorite seat, the one with the catamount leaping across the backrest. She rolls her eyes in a gesture that reminds me so much of Iru it’s eerie, but she doesn’t kick me out.

**Lyrik**

I arrive at Brezia sweaty, slightly bloody, and otherwise in a state of general messiness. It doesn’t bother me much, of course, but the look the trader gives me before she tries to subtly breathe through her mouth is obvious. The water store on the lowest branches of the canopy is small, but I really don’t feel like climbing up all those layers just now. Kicking off my shoes, I dump a bowlful over my head, relishing the way it feels dripping down my face.

A polite cough makes me turn around. It’s the Kyla boy, though I suppose that I shouldn’t really call him a _boy._ He’s the same age as me, but he’s always been slighter, smaller. In the time since my last visit, though, he’s apparently shot up like a weed. He’s still lean, but he has a bit of muscle on his bones, and the tanned skin of his throat, with it’s light dusting of facial hair that hasn’t _really_ started growing in yet makes me want to find out how low his tan-line goes.

Because I’ve apparently gone tongue-tied, it’s him who speaks first. “Welcome back,” he says, holding his hand out for me to shake. “Been a long time Lyrik. You recognize me?” His eyes glint at me mischievously, two different colors in tandem. His hand has long, thin fingers; he looks dexterous.

“Kyla!” I finally get my mouth under control and clasp his hand in both of mine, realizing simultaneously that his hand is noticeably smaller than mine and that he’s gotten... very much... taller than me. “You’ve grown quite a bit,” I say, looking him up and down with an approving smile. What can I say, a little flirting never hurts.

And _oh_ he looks so cute with that light dusting of a blush barely visible. “Yes, well,” he smiles shyly at me and takes his hand back, though not so fast that it looks like a rejection. _Interesting._ “You have too. Though not up, I see,” he flashes a smile and I notice that one of his front teeth is chipped.

I huff a breath out, punching his shoulder good-naturedly. “Careful kid, I can still beat you in a wrestling match,” I watch him bite his lip in reaction to what I said, but instead of rising to the obvious bait he ducks his head, letting the soft waves of his hair fall over his eyes.

“Stop talking like an old man,” he says instead, and it gets me to laugh even if it’s not really him flirting back. If he’s really interested, he’ll let me know. “Anyway, my dad wants to see you. I guess Estid sent a letter ahead of you?”

 _That_ reminder sobers me up fast, much as I wish I could keep exchanging smiles with Kyla. “Yeah,” I confirm, toeing my shoes back on. “Okay, lead the way.”

He looks at me critically, seeing more than I thought he would. He’s never been just a pretty face, though. “I’ve got a basket waiting for us. I figured you wouldn’t be up for a long climb right about now.” Despite everything, the responsibility weighing heavily on my shoulders, he somehow gets me to smile again. I missed him more than I realized.

**Iru**

Kyla’s face is drawn, paler than usual. If that alone weren’t enough to worry me, he’s said barely ten words since coming out of that (very, very long) meeting with his father and the Brezia boy hours ago. Kyla’s never quiet, not unless something is wrong. Usually, that something is easy to fix, like when he accidentally let Myloh fall and sprain his ankle. Help him tape it up, apologize to the geezer, and laugh it off after. Simple.

This time, I have a feeling it’s not going to be simple. Bad news from Brezia is (almost always) bad news for us, and it’s hardly ever the kind that is easy to fix. Still, I can at least comfort him. “Alright,” I say, dropping my broom and letting it clatter against the floor, “no more moping!”

“Huh?” He has the gall to look surprised at the sudden noise, but then he props his broom against the wall pointedly and corrects (read: tries to divert) me. “I wasn’t moping, I was _thinking._ ” I roll my eyes at him and grab his wrist. If my parents want to complain about the unswept floor they can do it later.

“Sure, sure,” I sound as dismissive as I can while I’m dragging him towards the door (and I _am_ dragging him, if the boy lifted his feet any less he’d be on the ground by now). “Just like you weren’t flirting with the Brezia boy earlier.” I’m mildly proud of myself for not sounding bitter about that; old wounds still ache when prodded, as silly as it can be.

I can tell from the way he splutters that he’s blushing. “What? I-” he takes a deep breath, then continues, “he has a name, you know.” Once again he’s deflecting, but this time I can’t help it; I bite.

Snorting, I reply, “Of course he does, but it’s a dumb one.” I know without looking that my needling is irritating Kyla (good, if he’s annoyed he won’t be worried). “Who names their kid Lyrik? He’s not even a musician.” It’s not my best attempt at an insult, but it’s better than nothing. I hope.

“If his name is so dumb,” Kyla says, “then why are we going to see him right now?” I close my eyes for only a moment, and let go of Kyla’s hand to grab the indentations in the side of the trunk that act as a ladder (of course, that’s the _only_ reason I let go of his hand).

“Because,” I explain, “ You like that dumb boy, for some reason. And I like you, so when you’re a mopey baby I guess I have no choice.” I think I do a good enough job of sounding merely put-upon, and not actually unhappy. If this does the trick, though, it’ll have been more than worth it.

He’s quiet for a very long (too long) time before answering, so I look down only to realize that he’s stopped moving. His face looking up at me looks strangely small. “I don’t know if I can handle seeing him right now,” he says, and it’s nothing if not honest. “He’s the one who told me...” I wait, patient, one arm hanging at my side and the other gripping the tree that is our home. “He found a dead roc.”

If it were at all possible for blood to freeze in my veins in the mid-afternoon, I’d think it just happened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two down, four to go! The main thing I'm concerned about here is that I really don't want Iru to come across as clingy/overly jealous/that stereotypical gross girl, so if she DID come across like that... well, it'll be sad.


	3. Towers of Glass

**Ludmila**

The Twin Inn is the sort of place that I’d normally avoid studiously. The building itself is alright, I suppose, if a bit dark and gloomy, but what worries me are its surroundings. Streets with the scent of alcohol and urine permeating them surround us, and many of the surrounding homes and stores show signs of disrepair. Only the memory of my mother, her hand so small and frail pressing a locket into mine, prompts me to walk up the steps to the door.

Agrafina follows close behind me, her steps deceptively light and rhythmic, as though she’s dancing. But I know the truth of her minced steps, forcing her to keep pace with me despite her energy, and making her sound smaller than her true size, nearly the same as mine.

We enter the inn and find ourselves in a wash of cloying warmth, even hotter than the summer swelter outside thanks to the crush of bodies and the cheery fire crackling in its hearth. The sound of people laughing, talking, and cheering seems out of place after the nearly empty street. Then again, it is nearly midnight. Perhaps what we’re seeing is everyone who couldn’t get home before the sun went down, and wouldn’t wander these cracked cobblestone streets alone.

I lead the way to the bar, taking in the bartender with critical eyes. He’s older than I’d thought he’d be, though he wears it well. His hair has only touches of grey at the temples, marring the dark brown mass of it. He has it pulled back in a tight ponytail, revealing scars at his cheeks and throat. Still, despite his clearly defined muscles and the way the eyepatch covering his right eye makes me tense, his left eye is the gentle brown of new tree bark when he looks at me.

“Can I help you young ladies?” he asks, voice a low rumble that carries easily even in the raucous room.

Beside me, my sister smiles brightly at him, but she follows our plan and doesn’t speak; it’s almost enough to make me smile as well. “Yes sir,” I reply, reaching into my cloak with my free hand and gripping a chain that I know without looking is tarnished and stiff. I take a deep breath and pull it out before I can hesitate, revealing the heavy, heart-shaped locket hanging from it. “Our mother told us that you could offer us a place to stay?”

His eyes fall on the locket and widen, his thick brows drawing in and his friendly expression turning into one that, on a smaller man, might look like trepidation. On him it seems out of place. “Is that...?” He holds his hand out, slowly, tentatively, and I bite the inside of my lip as I drop the locket into his hand. _Got him._

“You’re Padma’s kids,” he says, knowledge seeping into his voice. His eye where it rests on the locket turns melancholy. “Come with me, I’ll get you guys set up in a room. My patrons can keep their peace for ten minutes,” he gives me a small smile, a facsimile of Agrafina’s bright one. Still, I feel the sense of victory as we walk up the stairs behind the bar, old and creaking and smelling vaguely of pine. _Finally home._

**Agrafina**

As soon as I saw the look on the man’s face, I was sure it was Rostislav. The gentle giant mother always talked about, with hands that could wrap around your whole face easily. He makes the locket look like a flower in his hand. If it wasn’t for the way he cradled it so gently, I’d be worried for it. As it is, he leads us up the stairs to a hallway with rows of doors on both sides. Though the building isn’t very wide, it’s long, and in the dark of the night it reminds me of a tunnel.

At the sound of our approach a door opens, revealing a head of bright, red hair. “Rosty!” A high voice calls out, “Did you get that new perfume for me? I’ve been waiting for _ages_.” The strange lady’s lips are painted bright to match her hair, which only makes her pout look slightly ridiculous. I can’t resist giggling slightly at the spectacle.

“Valeria,” Rostislav responds, sounding somewhere between pained and fond, “I haven’t had time, I told you it was a busy night.” The woman- Valeria, what a pretty name, like something that’d belong to a flower- opens her mouth to say something, probably that he should _find_ the time, but he cuts her off. “In any case, I have to get these girls to a room first.”

Valeria’s eyelashes look even more ridiculously thick when her eyes scrunch in a smile as she takes in me and my sister. “Well aren’t you just the sweetest things?” She says, “And you remind me so much of my dear old friend-”

Rostislav clears his throat. “Ah, they’re Padma’s daughters.”

Bright, glittering blue sapphires for eyes suddenly turn dull. “What?” Valeria tilts her head up at him, the sympathy in his eye obvious. “Did she...”

Ludmila suddenly steps forward, her jaw clenched in a way that I know means she’s sick of them all talking about them as if they’re not there. Behind my back, I clench my hands together; this situation is not what I was hoping it would be, when we arrived. “She didn’t suffer,” Ludmila says, vice perfectly that of a mourning daughter, betraying none of the anger or frustration I can see in the way she has her crutch clutched in a white-knuckled grip.

Shaking her head as if to dispel whatever mood had fallen over her, Valeria looked back at us, doe-eyes sad and downturned, mixing with the rouge on her cheeks to make it look like she might cry. “Oh, you poor dears,” she reaches out and pets Ludmila’s hair before I can pull her back. “You’re welcome to stay as long as you like. I’m so sorry.” She somehow misses the way Ludmila’s weight is swaying, her leg tensing as if she wants to spring away.

“Don’t offer rooms that aren’t yours,” Rostislav says, exasperated, and I resist the urge to visualize Valeria doing this with every sorry orphan she sees. “Though, it is true,” he adds for our benefit. “Our home is yours now.”

 _Our? Does that mean that Valeria lives here too?_ I hope it does, because she seems nice, despite the way Ludmila’s grinding her teeth now. I’ll tell her not to pat her so condescendingly next time. “Thank you,” she says, the picture of grieving sincerity, “I can’t tell you how much this means to us.” I have to grip my tongue between my teeth to stop myself from commenting, but I still smile, just slightly. It’s gentle enough that it looks natural.

****

**Rostislav**

I try not to think of the girls as _unsettling,_ considering who they are, but maybe it’s _because_ of who they are. Padma’s eyes were more hazel than green, but her blonde hair was exactly like Ludmila’s, thick and heavy. It makes my eye want to linger on Agrafina’s hair, so wispy and short, but I can guess what happened to it. Orphans are hard-pressed to make money, and the trip here couldn’t have been cheap.

When I leave them to unpack their bags and bid them a good night, I have to resist the urge to lock the door behind me. It’s unfair to them, the uneasiness that they set off in my stomach, but I can’t figure out how to stop it. As soon as the heavy wooden door closes behind me, Valeria’s there, eyes misted with tears that won’t fall until after her shift is over. “Was it the ash?” She asks, usually clear voice gone hoarse.

“I don’t know,” I admit. “I didn’t have the heart to ask them.” Valeria nods, accepting it offhand. I wonder briefly if they set her teeth on edge the way they do mine.

“They’re so young,” she says, her head ducking down so her thickly curled ringlets hide her face.

I swallow hard, walking only two steps before I pause again, facing away from her now. “We were younger,” I point out, knowing that doesn’t make it any easier.

“Yes,” she says, and I hear a rustle and imagine her straightening, putting on the happy mask she’ll have to wear for the rest of the night. “I’m leaving in an hour. You going to send someone to watch Julij for me?” She passes me quickly, resting her hand on her doorknob and looking at me from the corner of her eye.

Forcing a smile comes as naturally to me as it does to her. Oh, the things work makes us do. “He’s plenty able to watch himself,” I point out, knowing as I say it that the man I payed downstairs would put Valeria’s worries to rest even as the coins in his pocket would pile onto them.

She responds with nothing more than a wink, likely knowing- or at least, suspecting- that her wishes will be honored anyway. Disappearing into the room with barely a sound, I blink away the last of the red and blue from my vision and head back downstairs. Walking into the common room is a relief, as always. I wonder when I stopped hating the crowded space as I go back to pouring drinks and am greeted with a cheery roar.

Knowing most of my patrons by name comes in handy on nights like tonight. The girls’ appearance had distracted me, but as I settle back into routine I can feel my hands tensing again. There are two strangers here, one with skin like gravel who I’m inclined to trust, and another who is sitting at the bar with bloodshot eyes who I know I’m not the only one watching.

The city is only ever so peaceful, and I can’t help but feel that the two other newcomers upstairs aren’t going to do much to make it more so.

****

**Valeria**

Julij’s voice is small when it reaches me from the adjoining room. “Mom?” He says, peeking out from the doorway. “I thought you already went to work!”

I spare a quick smile for him before I go back to inspecting my face critically in my mirror. “Not yet sweetheart,” I say, pulling an ornate comb from a drawer without having to look and placing it precisely in my hair. “I’ve got another hour.”

There’s a pause, during which I pluck the comb back out from my hair and replace it slightly further back. “Okay, but you can’t come into my room for the rest of the time!” Julij declares, his eyes glittering like melted fudge.

“Oh, is there something in there I’m not meant to see?” I say, feigning obliviousness. I don’t have to feign the excitement that bubbles up in me, however, at the prospect of what I know Julij is working on making.

“Yes!” He declares, unabashed, disappearing back into the room. I wonder how he thinks to hide it from me, considering the fact that the inner rooms don’t have doors between them, but I don’t mention it to him. With any luck, I won’t have to walk past the open doorway until after my shift.

The sound of fabric moving fills the air for a few minutes, drowning out the light clinks of glass from my cosmetics’ containers as I put the finishing touches on. It’s a peaceful quiet, the kind I won’t be getting for the rest of the night, so I cherish it. But, as always, the noise builds in my throat until I can’t _not_ talk anymore. “So, we’ve got some new neighbors!”

As topics of conversation go, it’s not one that will make me particularly happy, but Julij will be curious and want to know about them soon enough. “Really?” He pokes his head out again, unruly, mousy hair all mussed.

Resisting the urge to walk over and smooth his hair down, I say, “yes! Do you remember my old friend Padma, the one I told you about?” He nods, eyes round. “Well, her daughters have come to stay. They’re not too much older than you, you should get along with them wonderfully!”

Predictably, Julij rolls his eyes at me, making me put on a hurt face. “Mom, just cause they’re my age doesn’t mean I’ll like them.” Despite his lecturing tone, his freckled cheeks are lifted in a smile. It makes me flash a bright, white under red smile back.

I pack my things back into their drawers, a jumble of bottles and brushes all mixing together. Nodding in satisfaction, I stand, smiling wider when Julij ducks back into the room, presumably to hide what is _obviously_ not a dress. “Have a nice night at work, Momma,” he says, voice small again.

“I will,” I promise, though I know I can’t guarantee it. There’s always danger in what I do, but to see Julij’s cheeks round with baby fat, nothing like their gauntness when I’d first held him, it’s well worth it. “Don’t stay up too late!” I call, my small purse clutched in one hand and the nails of the other biting into my palm as I leave.

****

**Julij**

I sneak out of the room on tip toe, making hardly any noise as I pad down the hallway to the stairs that lead to the kitchens. The third step down creaks, so I skip it, gripping the railing and hopping easily. The rest of the way is simple, and I make it to the kitchen just in time to see Rostislav enter through the other door. _Darn, I’d been so close._

“Julij?” He says, surprised, “What are you doing up so early?”

I look down at my feet, sheepishness bleeding from my pores. “I was going to make breakfast,” I explain, picking at my shirt. It pulls away from my belly with a _squelch,_ then goes right back to clinging. “Since we have those new girls now, I thought I could make them feel more at home?” Peeking up at him from under my stubbly eyelashes makes a bit of the tension melt from his muscles.

“That’s very considerate of you,” Rostislav says, turning to the stove and lighting it. “How about I help with this plan?” He begins to pull out ingredients, and I follow suit quickly. “Did your mother tell you about them?” Rostislav’s voice is carefully casual, and if I were a dog my ears would have just gone straight up.

“Not really,” I say, picking my shirt off my stomach again and then wiping my damp fingers on my pants before reaching for an apple. “Mom just said they were her friend Padma’s? And that they’re close to my age.”

Rostislav’s laugh is always a low, booming thing, not even subtle when he’s only chuckling. “They’re only close to you in comparison to us,” he said, smile revealing chipped teeth. “They’re seventeen, almost twice your age!” I wrinkle my nose at that, handing him an apple and stick of cinnamon.

“What are they like?” I ask eventually, my small hands nimbly peeling a second apple with a knife Rostislav handed me.

He thinks for a moment, humming a bass note low in his throat absently. “Their names are Agrafina and Ludmila. They grew up outside of the city,” he says, “and their mother was rather... eccentric. But she was also very kind, and I believe they may have inherited that.” It’s the normal sort of thoughtful thing Rostislav would say, but something in it makes me squint down at my apple. How much of what he’s saying does he really trust, I wonder?

The conversation flows easily onto other things, Mom’s dress that I’m sewing and how last night was, until the food is ready, and I take the apple sweets up to the girls as soon as they’ve cooked. I knock on their door, something nervous stirring in my gut, making my shirt tickle my belly. “Hello?” I call softly, not wanting to wake anyone in nearby rooms. “I have breakfast.”

No sooner are the words out of my mouth than the door opens, revealing a girl who is, as Rostislav promised, not nearly my age. “Room service?” She says, arching an eyebrow. Her short hair sticks up from her head at odd angles, and I blink at her, then at the girl behind her who is sitting up in bed slowly, sleepily. _Eccentric,_ I think, _might be a good word for them._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My main concern here is that the characters sound too similar to one another; I _think_ I've got their dialog down, but internal voice has always been my bigger struggle, so.


	4. The Butterfly Effect

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These characters are my lovely science fiction babies, but they're not as fleshed out as the others I've written about thus far, so don't be afraid to criticize them. Also, to clarify, the last two do not take place one immediately after the other, there _is_ a time skip between them.

**Yuki**

I lounge against my chair as much as I can, considering the hard wood it’s made of. The dean is giving me a measured look over his glasses, doing his best to look stern and not at all exhausted. His best isn’t turning out to be worth much of a damn, to my amusement.

“Miss Yamada,” he begins, prompting an eye-roll already. Not a good start, buddy. “This is the fifth time you’ve played hooky this week.” He keeps talking, for some reason, despite my doing my best to demonstrate exactly how little I care.

When I don’t respond immediately he continues, “I’m assigning you a tutor.” _That_ prompts me to open my mouth, but he keeps going, the oblivious bastard. “As good as your scores are, you’re falling behind. Our Miss Dutt will help you to catch up.” As he talks he gestures to the side, at someone I’d assumed was some kind of dean-in-training. She steps forward, brushing a braid over one shoulder and offering her hand primly. Her red power-suit screams _trying too hard_ or _priss._ I’m not sure which yet.

Sitting up slightly straighter, I take her hand, my grip firm in hers. Our skin tones are almost the exact same shade of brown, but my grip is stronger, I’m pleased to note. Of course, as soon as I think it her perfectly manicured nails bite down. _So it’s priss then, is it?_

“Nice to meet you,” she says, smiling with lips expertly painted to look like they haven’t been painted at all. Her teeth are very white, and for a moment I think she’s kinda hot, but then she opens her mouth again. “I’m Julian. What days are good for you? I’m frequently busy on weeknights with extracurriculars, but Saturdays and Sundays are both free.”

I respond on automatic, releasing her hand after one more squeeze. “Saturday,” I say, final and a little sulky. What can I say, I don’t appreciate my time being taken up this way. “Not that I need it.”

A perfectly groomed eyebrow arches upwards. “That’s my job to determine, isn’t it?” She says, turning to the dean and giving him a respectful head nod. “May we leave now, sir, so that we may discuss the particulars of the tutoring?” He waves his hand dismissively, and she’s off, low and sensible heels hitting the floor loudly. I scowl, but follow, my own sneakers dragging on the ground. It’s not that I’m unhappy about being able to leave the meeting, but I can’t look too eager to follow my new jailor.

As soon as the door closes behind us I start to walk away, but that manicured hand catches mine again, dragging me back. “Here’s my number,” she says, handing me an honest to god _business card_. I wrinkle my nose at it, but take it anyway.

“I seriously don’t need the tutoring,” I say, pocketing the stiff piece of paper. Julian only smiles winsomely at me again, then turns and starts walking away.

“Of course you don’t. I’ll text you on Friday to set a time!” She calls back, not even looking at me. Damn, but I’m not looking forward to this weekend.

**Zelda**

We barrel into Julian’s room unannounced as always, Zola laughing so hard she can hardly breathe. “Well!” I shout, dragging Zola in by the shoulder when she stumbles at the threshold. “I think we’ve _officially_ managed to piss off the janitor!”

The stranger in Julian’s room manages to thoroughly go unnoticed as I sit down on the edge of Julian’s bed, Zola collapsing beside me with a gasp of breath, until she blinks her wide eyes twice and says, loudly, “Um.”

Beside me, Zola jumps a little. “Oh! Hi!” She says, grinning widely, somehow forgetting that her teeth are still abnormally sharp. I can’t resist the urge to chuckle at the way the stranger’s eyes go wider.

Julian sighs, neatening her papers where they sit on he table in front of her, obviously not in need of neatening. “Yuki, this is Zola and Zelda. Zola, Zelda, Yuki.” Her introductions are formal as always, and I roll my eyes.

“What’d you do to land yourself with Julian, kill the dean’s cat?” I ask, prompting another startled guffaw from Zola.

A slow grin spreads on Yuki’s face. “Not even,” she says, clearly needing someone to complain to, “I only played hooky like, ten times, and suddenly he got all worried about me falling behind.”

Nodding as sympathetically as I can, I confide, “he’s a bit of a worrywart, in case you couldn’t tell,” Zola claps her hand on my back halfway through, making my breath huff out and turning the last few of my words breathless. I get back at her by pinching her side, making her wiggle away.

“You two,” Julian says, admonishing, but fond under the bite of her words, “if you’re going to behave like children, would you kindly do it elsewhere? Yuki’s confidence is all well and good, but I _am_ required to find out how much help she needs to catch up.”

“How about none?” Yuki snaps back, clearly fighting a losing battle. Arguing with Julian is like arguing with a brick wall, I’m sure she’ll realize soon.

I get up from the bed and walk to the table, leaning over it to look at the papers. Zelda follows me, tapping my shoulder until I lean back a bit, sheepishness taking over my face for a moment. I hadn’t meant to invade Yuki’s personal space, whoops. Still, I focus on the papers and frown. “This is easy stuff,” I point out, “If Yuki says she doesn’t need help with _this_ I’m gonna believe her. Especially if they assigned her to _you_ for tutoring.”

Turning to look at Yuki critically, I ask, “What kinda scores did you even get?” Yuki’s eyes glitter with pride, and I spare a moment to appreciate those dark eyes surrounded with naturally thick eyelashes- no makeup on that face as far as I can see, let alone false lashes. _Julian got lucky with this one,_ I think.

“Ninety eighth,” she proclaims, ignoring the sharp look Julian gives her for it, “and they’ve been rising, not dropping. Honestly, the dumb-asses the dean calls teachers are more than useless. I _don’t_ need the help.”

That was the wrong thing to say in front of Julian, I note with a grin while I watch her gear up for a lecture. _This is gonna be great,_ I think, and the look on Zola’s face when I glance at her agrees wholeheartedly.

**Zola**

He lounges in my lap, his hair down for once and spread all over the place. I comb my fingers through it as best I can, catching on tangles frequently; with hair dyed as often as his is, it’s a little bit coarse and frayed at the ends despite the fact that he didn’t have to bleach it out first, unlike me. He blinks up at me sleepily, and I resist the urge to bend down and kiss him, knowing that it’ll result in things that are likely not decent for company.

Across from us Julian and Zelda are situated similarly, Julian’s head in Zelda’s lap. Somehow, the ones with the longer (and therefor harder to finger-comb) hair always end up in the privileged positions. Still, I wink at Zelda, and all at once their eyes light up. Both our hands creep down to our respective limpet’s sides, ready to tickle, but then Daniel breaks the companionable silence.

“Who’s the new kid you’re tutoring?” He asks, looking at Zola but addressing Julian. I bring my hand back up to flick his nose, but my eyes stay gentle, lightening the reprimand.

Zelda answers before Julian can, “some hot piece of ass named Yuki,” grinning deviously when Julian sits up halfway through the sentence to glare.

“Kindly refrain from referring to my students that way,” she says, stiffly, “and Daniel, how do you even know I have a new assignment?”

“Jesus, can you even hear yourself talking _professor_?” Zelda scoots forward on the carpet until they reach me and lean against the couch beside me. I absentmindedly disentangle my fingers from the long purple locks they’d been in and ruffle their hair affectionately. Zelda leans into it, expression making it obvious that if they were a cat, they’d be purring.

Daniel shrugs with one shoulder, hands playing with the ends of a chunk of his hair. “You’ve got a can of monster in your trash,” he explained.

Glancing up, I see that he’s right, and I curl my lip in something like disgust. “Do you actually keep that in your house for the poor souls who get saddled with you?” I ask.

Julian’s shaking her head so fast it makes me giggle, Zelda beside me laughing along. “Of course she doesn’t,” they say, patting my back, “she keeps tea and vitamin water for them.” Her cheeks coloring, Julian tries to splutter a denial, but we’ve all seen hr fridge. Daniel grins up from my lap, lips moving lazy and slow as always. I resist the urge to trace his lips with my thumb; that can always wait until later.

“You’re all impossible,” Julian sighs exasperatedly, getting up and grabbing one of the vitamin water bottles from her fridge, prompting a pointed look from Zelda and another squawk of laughter from me. _My best friends,_ I think, _are the biggest dorks ever. Then again, I am too._ A bony hand on mine draws me back to Daniel’s hair, his eyes blinking up at me languidly.

“Pussy cat,” I mutter down at him, affectionate and sweet. Zelda snorting beside me only makes the moment sweeter.

**Daniel**

Julian had warned me, but I wasn’t quite prepared for the way Yuki tries to crush my hand the first time I meet her. My spindly fingers feel frail inside her small, calloused hands, and I’m pulling back as soon as she grips them. One of her eyebrows quirks upwards. “So, you’re Daniel?” she says, sounding faintly incredulous.

I can feel Zola’s eyes on me from across the room, where she sits on the floor beside the pile of black and white cards Zelda has been shuffling over and over since they took them out. “Yeah,” I respond, sounding out the word and wondering vaguely what the others have told her about me. With Zola there, it wasn’t bad, I’m certain of it.

“Not what you expected, huh?” Yuki pokes her head around Daniel to give Zelda a _look_ at that, though I don’t know what it means. I half-turn, my eyes meeting Zola’s (patterned with feathers today, in a subtle enough way that I can’t see them from this distance, even knowing that they’re there), and wait for her to give a small nod before I start walking back.

Folding my legs beneath me and leaning heavily against Zola, increasing the pressure until she shoves me off with a huff, I try not to feel Yuki’s dark eyes on me. “Nope, not at all,” she decides, sitting across from us and snatching the cards from Zelda. “Considering how you two act, I half expected him to be in fucking clown makeup.”

That prompts me to grin. “You’re a few of years too late for that,” I say, coy. Zelda reaches around my waist to squeeze, her soft arm surprisingly strong as always.

“Seriously?” Yuki looks between the three of us incredulously. “Where do you even find people like that in real life, what the hell.”

Any answer we might have given is cut off by Julian walking into the room, her briefcase clutched in one hand. “Before anyone says anything,” she says, striding in and setting the briefcase on the desk, “we _are going to study tonight._ Yes, I know we can do other things first, but-”

“Slow down miss priss,” Yuki cuts her off, though there’s something good-natured in the way she says it. “Game first, and serious business later, yeah?”

Julian’s cheeks puff up before she sighs heavily, sitting down between Zola and Zelda, somehow making the motion of collapsing to the floor look graceful. “There there,” Zelda says, patting Yuki’s shoulder, “You’ll get used to her workaholic ways eventually, just like the rest of us.” Yuki snorts, telegraphing doubt obviously, making me chuckle.

I reach around my back for the end of my braid, pulling it under my arm so I can twirl the frayed tip around my finger as Yuki begins to deal cards. For all that cards against humanity is a bit of a ridiculous game, it’s pleasant to be around the others like this, and I’m finding to my surprise that Yuki is growing on me.

**Sam**

I knock on Yuki’s door again, my knuckles sharp and clear, _tap tap tap._ “I know you’re in there,” I say, hearing my own voice slip into a lower register with frustration. “Come on, just open the door, I’m not leaving until you do!”

“You know what now?” A voice says from behind me, and I startle, jumping around to see Yuki, hair disheveled and a cocky grin on her face.

Pushing my glasses up my nose, I glare upwards as best I can with such a height disadvantage. “You’ve been playing hooky again,” I point out, ignoring Yuki’s eye roll at my ignoring her question.

She strides past me and slides her key card through the reader, opening the door and leaving it gaping for me to follow. I clutch my books to my chest with one arm, peeking into the room cautiously. It smells of dirty laundry and I resist the urge to start picking up the clothing scattered over the floor of the small room. “And, again, who cares?” Yuki says, flopping onto her bed casually.

Something in me wants to bristle at the way Yuki isn’t even looking at me while she talks, but I resist her needling and instead focus on the business I’d come here for in the first place. “Are you at least going to your tutoring?” I ask, pushing a hand into my kinky hair for moment in a soothing motion.

“You know I am,” Yuki points out, “Cause if I wasn’t, the dean would be breathing down both our necks.”

Nodding on automatic, I try to subtly push the real reason for my visit. “So, how’s that going?” I ask, glancing at Yuki from the corner of my eye. She’s got her hands up behind her head, the picture of relaxation. It makes me want to grit my teeth.

“Good,” she shrugs without getting up from the bed. “Julian’s nice enough. Why do you ask?”

I clear my throat, steeling myself for what I’m about to say, and find myself abruptly glad that my dark skin hides blushes well. “No reason,” I say, trying for nonchalant and still sounding half stern, which I suppose is okay enough, “just that if you’re still not attending class, you might need more help?”

Yuki sits up abruptly, something on her face almost hurt, but she sounds as teasing and lighthearted as ever when she replies, “aw sugar, if you want to spend time with me that badly, why not just ask?”

It’s the proverbial straw that broke the camel’s back, and I bite my lip, looking down at the floor. “Fine,” I say, shortly. “If you don’t need it.” I back out of the room and begin my way down the hallway, walking so quickly it’s almost a jog. Yuki doesn’t come after me, though why that would make me feel tense and somewhat miserable is beyond me.

When I reach the bottom of the stairs and am almost out of the building I slip my hand into my pocket, tracing the shape of the small piece of plastic inside it. _It’s fine,_ I remind myself, _why should I want to spend my time with a delinquent like that anyway?_ The thought does nothing to ease the ache behind my ribs.

**Julian**

I watch the girl storm off- Sam, I remember her name is- critically, though I hold my tongue and don’t comment just yet. From my perspective, it had been a needlessly antagonistic interaction, but it was clear that there was some history there. Pursing my lips, I wait for an explanation from Yuki, but none is forthcoming.

Glancing at her beside me, I feel my face fall from its disapproval into something sympathetic. “Oh, Yuki,” I sigh, patting her shoulder awkwardly. Young love, the greatest curse of all, or so Zola and Daniel tell me. From the way they stare doe-eyed at each other I’d doubted it, and yet.

Without looking away from Sam’s retreating back Yuki shakes me off, then blinks hard twice. “Shove off,” she says, storming the opposite direction. I follow, knowing that today won’t be the most productive tutoring session, but resigned to it nonetheless.

To my surprise, however, Yuki throws herself into the work with vigor, focusing so intently that _I’m_ the one who takes a break first. I walk to my bathroom, closing the door, then flick open my phone, rose charm on it making a quiet noise that prompts me to hold my breath for a moment, hoping Yuki didn’t hear it.

Speed dial puts Zola on the phone in under a minute, though she doesn’t answer it on the first ring the way Zelda would have. “Julian?” She answers, “what’s up? I thought you didn’t want us to interfere with Yuki’s learning today.”

“Um,” I hesitate, then look at the closed, white door. Behind it, I can almost see the shape of Yuki’s back, bowed deeply over her books. “I did, but something happened. Can you bring Zelda over? I think Yuki needs a break.

Zola’s surprised exhale sends a burst of static in my ear, and I wince. “Miracle of miracles,” she mutters, and then I hear a smile in her tone. “How about I bring Daniel over instead? I think he’s good for her.”

I hadn’t expected that, and it makes me pause for longer than is polite, but Zola waits patiently. “Listen, I know you don’t like leaving him alone-” I start slowly, but Zola cuts me off with a laugh.

“No, no, it’s not about that,” she explains, and I hear a rustle as she starts moving. I cross my fingers and hope she’ll be here soon; the awkwardness in the room outside is too intense for me to handle without a buffer, though I’d never admit it. “He’s good for her. You’ll see when I get there. See you in ten!”

This time it’s my turn to breathe a heavy sigh of relief, and I have a moment to feel bad for sending the static back at Zola for a moment, but then I say, “That sounds good. See you soon,” hang up after hearing her goodbye, and I’m left alone in a broom closet of a bathroom, a girl that I don’t have the first idea how to comfort it outside.


	5. Indigo Mirror

**Aodhan**

Etain is lovely as always, her movements fluid like the shape of a cloud changing, slowly, gentle despite being buffeted by winds hundreds of miles an hour. Though today she looks tired, sad, her hooded eyes drooping lower than usual with the quiet solemnity of rain.

“Hi,” I say shyly, my calloused hand dwarfing her delicate one. As always, I’m struck by her wrists, alien and impossibly thin even when they’re covered in gloves. “You ready for this?”

“Hello,” she replies, lips painted in the blue her role today calls for curving upwards, gentle and small but a smile nonetheless. “Of course I am,” and then she pauses, and the sadness lurks just deep enough that I don’t know how to sooth it, “though I have something I will need to talk to you about, afterwards.”

Swallowing hard, I nod, trying my hardest to let my smile be like the moment a child sees a white glowcloud for the first time. “It’s good news, I hope,” I say, and she nods but it feels like a lie, her intricately braided wig not so much as trembling on her head.

We step onto stage hand in hand, her glass skin glinting where the fabric of the costume doesn’t cover even through the layer of makeup she’d carefully applied. My bulky muscles should look graceless, especially beside her, but training carries me smoothly to the center of the stage, my feet gliding as lightly as hers across the wood.

Dancing, if nothing else, is simple. It comes as second nature after all these years, and it shows in my movements, the way trailing gauze doesn’t inhibit my movement any more than tight cloth does, the fact that each of my joints knows what’s wanted of them even before I have to think about it. Despite this, I know I can’t be as good as Etain. The moment she goes up on her toes her fragility falls away, and the crowd is enthralled.

The strangeness of our pairing is not lost on me, even though I got used to it long ago. She is like a knife, her slender limbs slicing through the air, the grace of the movement nearly lost in the deadly power, the impression of something terrifying and powerful overwhelming the reality of her brittle form. In comparison I am cumulus, wavering where her wind cuts me, bowing with the sort of subservience she would never ask of me outside of a dance.

When we are done the world erupts in a small explosion of noise, starlit faces of those around us in the open-air theater clearly awed and adoring. It was worth the three day trip, to make it to this city which has never seen the Princelle school’s newest dancers. Etain doesn’t stay to bask in the applause, though, and instead disappears into the folds of curtains, once again nothing more than a frail figurine.

I say my thanks and chase after her as quickly as I can, catching her as she wipes the last of the makeup from her face, leaving it translucent and oddly bare without eyebrows. “Etain,” I say, smiling at her, about to say more but then she interrupts me and turns my world upside down.

“I’m leaving,” she whispers, and it carries through the room so that when it reaches my ears it feels like she’s much closer than she, in truth, is. “My arms got worse, Aodhan. I’m sorry.”

**Etain**

I walk into the cave with no small amount of trepidation, the threat of true darkness too real and aching in the nape of my neck. But my wig brushes the backs of my knees when I walk, and the bag at my hip is heavy with things Aodhan and Eilidh gave me, and my eyebrows are done, and my hands are wrapped tightly in their bandages, and my wig brushes the backs of my knees when I walk. I pause, force myself to stop shifting my weight from side to side, and take another step forward. Another. Another.

As I go, I trail one hand along the rock wall, feeling the way it catches my bandages. It’s not necessary for a long time, the starlight able to penetrate far further into the cave than I’d thought it would, but eventually that disappears and I’m left with nothing but the sound of my footsteps sending small waves to the walls and the scraping of fabric on coarse stone. Then the ground slopes upwards, so slowly that when the former sound disappears I hardly notice.

The latter sound, however, leaves a jarring sense of terror in my chest when it’s abruptly replaced by the sound of cloth _on cloth._ Groping for the wall, I feel nothing but long, thin strips of what feels like silk, sliding through my fingers in a slickness that’s almost wet. Though I have no heartbeat to stutter or breath to pick up, my body feels strung tight as a kite string about to snap anyway. Quickly thrusting my free hand into my bag, I begin to grope for the items inside, trying to calm myself.

Counting my way through the tinctures and salves and tightly wrapped plants, I sooth. It’s slow, but eventually I find the strength to walk forward, never mind the alien feeling of shifting, dry sand beneath my shoes. It feels different to walk on from loam or wet sand. It’s not bad, though, and at least that makes a noise to distract me from the lack of stone wall to orient me.

It feels like ages before I see the light. It grows steadily as my feet carry me forward, almost on automatic now, and slowly I begin to see what surrounds me now. Thick layers of silky cloth, hanging from some high ceiling I can’t see in the gloom. They range in color from burgundy to pale pink, though most are scarlet. Bright, bright scarlet.

Long before I can see her through the silks, I hear her humming. It’s an unfamiliar tune but it stirs memories in me anyway, the way my home and Eilidh do, in an uncertain but hopeful way. Hopeful, it’s not quite the right word, but I don’t have time to find the one I’m looking for with the humming growing louder and clearer. At least I had warning, before I saw her.

She’s beautiful, that much I can see. She’s both like me and Eilidh and not, her features alien in a more subtle way than ours. The most obvious is her height, long, thin frame stretched nine feet high, so that I’m glad the red glow around us has grown enough to illuminate her head. Her face, though, is more human than either of ours, so that her perfectly symmetrical features are the only thing that set her apart. She looks down at me with old eyes, a triple-jointed arm beckoning me forward. “I’m sorry,” she says, and it’s sincere and tired.

**Eilidh**  


Beautifully naive as she is, I’m not surprised when Etain leaves me with Aodhan in the inn while she goes to the market. I am, however, immensely irritated within minutes. Aodhan seems to share the sentiment.

“So,” he says, curiosity plain but also plainly lacking any real substance. “Are you aware of where your tree is, right now?”

“Why do you ask?” I say, and I put as much polite innocence into it as I can, so that it comes out dripping. Aodhan doesn’t seem to appreciate the effort, or even to notice it, really.

“Etain said she uses her home as a reference point,” he states plainly, seemingly unconcerned with the disconcertingly boyish voice coming from his mature frame. “Like how most people use the guiding star. I was wondering if you could do that, or if it’s different cause your tree moves.”

Rolling my eyes, I give up on dropping hints. My teeth feel positively _tiny_ in my mouth, and not in a good way. “If I could, why would I tell you?”

At the very least, his genuine surprise tells me that the idiot didn’t have any alternative motives to the question, even without him having to protest his innocence. “Because we are comrades?” He offers, hands spreading open in front of him, as if to telegraph that he is _totally trustworthy._ As if that means anything at all to a human.

“For the time being,” I say, and then I grin, knowing that even with my teeth as retracted as they are at the moment they still look fearsome for someone used to dull, human teeth. To my surprise, however, he doesn’t flinch away, though his eyebrows draw downwards.

Things are silent for a little while, but he seems unable to stay that way. “What do you think of Etain?” He says, and my leg pauses in its bouncing under the table for a moment before it picks up again, double time.

“Gossiping while she’s not here? How... uncouth.” I curl my tongue around the last word; it’s a favorite of mine.

Aodhan bristles gratifyingly, muddy eyes darkening in the shadow of his ever tightening brows. “I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t know you’d say something complimentary,” he protests, and I’m surprised when no yellow tinges my vision at that.

“What, you in love with her?” I say it mockingly, but his brows relax and this time I can feel myself bristle, heart pounding hard, once, and then resuming its normal pace while my teeth grow, just the slightest bit.

Silence hangs this time by a thread, so it feels less like annoyance and more like relief when he responds, “She is very beautiful.”

Scoffing, I tap my fingers on the table, the sound like raindrops on a roof. “Beautiful? If that’s enough to make you love her, then you know as well as I that she can do so much better.”

Shrewdly, he eyes me, and when his boyish voice comes again I feel my teeth grow even longer. “Better, meaning you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long time no see!! These are my poetic children from a video game I'm working on in RPG maker, so if their story is ever completed you'll have to be following my tumblr to see it; it won't be announced on AO3 at all, sorry!


	6. Amber

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chloe's narration is supposed to be film-noir-esque, and Beth's is supposed to be reminiscent of a romance novel written by a determinedly positive first time writer. No idea how well I did, but it was fun to try!

**Chloe**

That Friday was a dark and rainy morning at the office. My partner, Beth Parker, sat at her desk behind me, moving just enough to set the chair beneath her squeaking. _Creak, creak,_ it echoed the sounds of the wood floors under my feet, ominous as the heavy grey clouds above us. We hadn’t had any new news for a week, and I was just starting to think that we should be looking into getting ourselves on a new case when the call came. Beth looked up from her paperback, pink hair frizzing in the humidity and hanging in the air around her like a cloud.

“Hello?” I said, grabbing the old phone from the receiver and holding it to my ear. The cord stretching between it and the desk quivered with tension, seeming to sense the way me and Beth glared at it, waiting for the sound to come down the line.

“Chloe,” detective Hearst said, his voice rough like three days of stubble and four cups of coffee after another sleepless night, “We’ve got another one.” His tone let me know immediately what he meant, and I nodded at Beth grimly.

While she grabbed our coats I gathered the case file from my desk, keeping the phone tucked between my head and my shoulder. “Where at?” I asked, grabbing a pen to jot down the location.

Detective Hearst rattled off the location before hanging up, knowing that me and Beth would be en route in a snap. I hung up, tucked the papers under my arm and stood, grabbing my forearm crutches as I went. Beth already had the car parked out front, so my long trench coat barely had a chance to get damp before I was in the passenger seat.

Once I told Beth the address, the car was quiet except for the rumble of the engine. This one would be another gristly crime scene, and we both knew it; I just hoped it would be the last. We pulled up at the brick storefront just after noon, though with the weather as dreary as it was you wouldn’t know it. Beth parked, and we steeled ourselves for the sight that was sure to meet us when we opened the door.

The only thing that kept me from puking when we entered the bakery was years of experience on the job. Even so, the gristly spectacle made me glad that little light leaked in through the windows, and the overhead lights didn’t seem to be working. “Hi James,” Beth said, her normally rosy cheeks pallid.

“Hey,” detective Hearst replied, looking up haggardly from where he’d been inspecting one of the many blood splatters on the walls. “Welcome to the party,” he said humorlessly.

I had already known that there would be two corpses here, if only because that was this serial killer’s M.O. One was relatively intact, though the forearms appeared to be grotesquely gutted, as though hooks had been driven into the insides of the man’s elbows and drawn downwards to the wrists, pulling up tendons and meat. In comparison to the other dead man, though, this was child’s play.

**Beth**

I picked my way across the room to James, trying my hardest not to think _protein puree_ when I accidentally glanced at piles of mess on the floors. Jame’s eyes were sympathetic, soulful, when he met my gaze and nodded. Their grey was dark today, laden by the empathetic pain he felt at the death of these strangers. Behind me, Chloe clicked her tongue, her crutches and steps forming a rhythmic sound together. “Looks worse than last time,” she commented.

“That’s cause it is,” James confirmed, a grimace making the dignified lines on his face into deep furrows. “The victims this time were a couple. James and Timothy White. Ran the bakery together and lived upstairs, so no one noticed there was something wrong until they tried to get into the store. Called the police damn quick when they saw what was in the windows, though.”

Chloe nodded calmly, her hair framing her handsome face and serious frown flatteringly. “What’s the approximate time of death?” She asked, and I thought I could answer, with the way my spine and cheek were aching from the lingering trauma in the air, but James was prepared as always.

“2 to 4 am, thank god,” he said, sitting at one of the unmarred, homely, wooden chairs that littered the room. “We’ve got a couple of hours before the trail dissipates.” He looked at me again, not unkindly. “Think you can do it this time?”

Despite the way butterflies were batting their wings against my belly, I chewed my lip solemnly. It was only thanks to Chloe’s stabilizing presence that I could do it at all, but so long as Chloe was there I knew I could manage. Slowly, I closed my chocolate eyes, reaching out in my mind to feel for any presence a witness may have left. I thought of it as a witness check, even though I knew I was probably looking for the murderer.

I caught the faint sound of wheezing breathing, someone who loved old-fashioned cigarettes even if they were harmful. Describing it to Chloe was easy, and I didn’t even have to look to know that she’d be jotting it down in her swift, effective handwriting, but tracking it was hard. Whoever this person was, they weren’t there long, and definitely not less than ten hours ago.

Still, I tried as hard as I could, and in the end I managed to hear the faintness of ocean waves lapping at wooden storefronts, and the bubbling of thick liquid, like soup. “Docks,” I said, wrinkling my nose, “or one of the stores which buys from them.” At my words James jumped to action, tapping away on his phone to alert his buddies to the new information.

Of course, neither he nor Chloe noticed my disquiet, their considerable intelligences already focused on the case. Still, Chloe walked to me and bumped me with one shoulder, winking broad and sunshiny as she said, “Got ‘im.” I smiled back, feeling the stiffness in one cheek as the stone didn’t give the way my dimples did. I got them.


End file.
